AoW Snippets
by Sleeping-force's-inside
Summary: Collection of one-(and potentially two)shots set in the Universe of Angel of War, which I wanted to write, but had no way to incorporate in the story proper. Rating and Characters apply to the lastest post R & E & R
1. Firey Love

**Category:** **Darksiders I & II**

 **Rating:** **T**

 **Couples:** **Vapula/Azazel**

 **Warnings:** **AU, Set in Angel of War- Universe**

 **Chapter:** **One-Shot**

 **Copyright:** **Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me**

 **Author's Note:** **Gonna post snippets of things I'd like you peeps to know, but which would explode the original story. Feel free to request things! (keep in Universe though)**

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

He had always been called 'the Mad Smith', even back in Heaven. It would be what finally drove those in charge to cast him from the City and the Legion itself. He had found his fascination for science and being a smith when he was still young.

At age fifteen, he had managed to receive an apprenticeship in the massive smithies that supplied Heaven of the many metal objects it required, be it armor, weaponry or decoration. At the end of the first year the smith in charge of his study declared him to be 'exceptionally talented, with astonishing focus' and allowed the youngster to work for as long as he liked. By the end of the second, the 'astonishing focus' had turned concerning. If not stopped, the teenager would not leave the smithy until the current project had been finished to perfection. With his still somewhat crude skill, and high expectations, that meant projects could well last weeks until he was satisfied.

The smithy-master felt unsure as to how to approach this problem: either he let the still talented youth do as he wished and risk him keeling over in exhaustion or he forced the boy to pace himself and quite obviously hold him back from his full potential…

The problem was solved in quite the unconventional way: the smithy-master had a daughter, a decade older than the young apprentice. She too had this insatiable need for ever greater projects to ever higher standards, but she lacked much of the talent that was needed for them.

Once, her father had asked her to retrieve something from the smithy for him. Hours later, he found her and the apprentice in a deep discussion about the merits of a particular form for a particular component for one of the boy's projects.

More importantly: the boy himself suggested continuing their talk over dinner, her father's request quite forgotten by the girl. It had been love on first sight for the both of them, gladly allowed by the smiths as the youngster now willingly paced himself to spend time with the girl.

Teaming up, they forged things they'd have been unable to on their own. Some of the wonders of angelic engineering came from them, rather than the master smiths they were apprenticed to.

But something changed over time. Whether it were the fumes of the smithy affecting him after he had spend days on end in there with no break, or whether it was something else, no one could quite tell… Regardless, the boy's focus shifted from forging weapons to forging _parts_. At first, it was still innocuous: simply a mechanical wing or other limb for a crippled warrior to improved replacement limbs for greater efficiency. But then at one point, he no longer was content with the occasional cripple coming his way. He wanted to improve all angels, cripple or not.

When the smith-master one day saw his daughter in the smithy, blood-covered and one of her very healthy wings replaced with a 'mechanical monstrosity' as he called it, the true troubles began.

Unwilling to swear he'd stop these practices, the young apprentice, by now a full-fledged smith, was deemed too dangerous by the White City Assembly. At the furious insistence of the girl's father - since the healers proved unable to restore her wing - he was declared unfit to set foot in the City and cast from it.

For a time, he might truly have gone mad after that. Despite everything, he loved the girl dearly and with all his heart. But as no one would believe him that she had consented to being his test-subject, he had not even been allowed to see her one last time.

He had lost all sense of time when one of his sprees of madness-induced rage was stopped by her in front of him. One of her wings was still pearly white, but the other a prosthetic forged by her father. She too loved him with all her heart and had willingly abandoned the white spires of the Heaven to stay at his side.

A couple months later, they came upon Caim's company. The girl's father had actually hired the Fallen to search for his child. She refused to return to the White City, pleading with the long-winged Fallen to not force her to abandon her lover.

Caim had send word to her father shortly afterward that he had only been able to find the girl's corpse. He presumed that demons had found her before she had found her lover and thus, safety. The young couple, he offered a place in his company, which they gladly took.

So grateful was the smith, that the Commander had gained the ability to do something that before that only the female had been able to do: exercise complete control. Even if he complained regularly about how hampered he was by his closed-minded elder.


	2. Strifing Grace

Grace was wide awake and crying again. War brought his young daughter downstairs, so she would not wake up Azrael. The angel was extremely tired and need all the sleep he could get. Plus War did promise he would take on the night duties.

Wandering around with the baby, War tried to shush her back to sleep. Every few minutes, the Nephilim yawned; despite his kind not needing as much rest compared to the angels, he too needed to sleep once a while and Grace wasn't helping. For some reason, nearly every night the half-blood cried herself and her parents awake. She only went back to sleep if her father walked up and down the hall, while mumbling to her.

"Tired, little brother?"

It was only then War noticed his eldest brother leaning against the hallway wall. He had to be more fatigued than he had thought, for not noticing Death. His eyes shone bright red-orange in the dim light and despite having his mask off, his hair still shadowed his face. Arms crossed, Death nodded in the directing of the whimpering infant. "The young one woke up again?"

"Yes, though I have managed to leave the tower before she could wake Azrael." After that particular sentence, War began to yawn once more.

Sighing, Death uncrossed his arms and muttered glumly: "You are barely awake. When was the last time you had a night's worth shut-eye?" Striding closer, the Eldest Horseman held out his hands expectantly. "Hand me your bundle of joy and go back to bed. We can't have you fall off Ruin, because of lack of sleep."

"But..."

"Doubting me, brother?"

That wasn't what War wanted to say, however he realised that he shouldn't let this opportunity go to waste. Careful, War transported Grace into his brother's arms. "Are you su-"

"I've raised all three of you lot. I can handle one for a night. And you: Go to bed."

Nodding, War shot one more glance at his child, before nearly fleeing back to his room.

Narrowing his eyes at his retreating brother, Death hissed: "Don't think, this becoming some routine, War." The only answer the Pale Rider got was a wave of the golem arm. With another sigh, he looked down at his charge for the night. Grace stared back, while hiccupping softly.

"Can't sleep or do you like to wake up other beings for your amusement?"

Only a small coo came as an answer.

"Why I'm not surprised?" Death replied dryly while raising one eyebrow, which caused the baby to giggle. Shaking his head, the grumbling Horseman headed towards the large living room of the fort. After making himself comfortable on one of the couches, he fell silent.

Within a few seconds, Grace began to whimper and squirm. Her eyes started to fill with tears.

At seeing this, Death muttered: "Don't tell me you are that of kind of a child?"

At hearing his voice, Grace calmed down but started to fuss once it was silent again.

Rolling his eyes, the Pale Rider mentally prepared himself. "You are just like Strife when he was a babe. Wouldn't sleep and kept on crying throughout the night, unless I spoke to him. No other methods worked and believe me, I've tried. Apparently my voice is sleep-inducing." Chuckling low and amused, Death continued: "Even now, he tells me that my voice is boring enough to fall asleep to. That brat."

At the last statement, the little girl made a happy sound.

"Tsk, let's hope for your parents you won't be such a handful. And don't think Fury and War were easy; Fury had this tendency to climb trees during thunderstorms. Thunderstorms" Death leaned his head back, while looking up at the ceiling. "Once War passed his awkward stage, he began to challenge everybody who dared to insult him, even Firstborns. Self-preservation wasn't in his dictionary."

Sighing, Death looked down at the child in his arms. She stared back at him with bright inquisitive eyes. "Ah, I've your full attention at the moment and you're still awake."

Making sure he and Grace were comfortable and secure, Death gazed out of the window in front of him. The sky was clear and empty; no sight of the flying apex-predators, known to the world they inhabit now.

"At nights like this, when Strife needed go to sleep, I tend to recite old scrolls to him. I'm not good in night-time stories and most of the time too exhausted then to think of something."

Absentminded, he stroked the white tuffs of hair. "Lore about Necromancy worked the best, for some reason. Let's see if it's the same for you?"

A gurgle came as an answer.

"It's a challenge then; Strife always fell asleep at the second chapter. I wonder how long you will stay awake. And even though you most likely don't remember this, don't tell your parents. Don't want your mother angry at me and War will certainly tell his mate."

Taking a deep breath, the Eldest of Nephilim recited the ancient teachings of the art of Necromancy. Grace fell asleep once he reached half away through the third chapter.

Unknown both of them, outside the living room and far down the dark hall, a shadowy figure with yellow eyes listened in. At the moment Death stopped with speaking, he left quietly.


	3. Grace's First Flight

**Category:** **Darksiders I & II**

 **Rating:** **T**

 **Couples:** **Mention of War/Azrael**

 **Warnings:** **AU, Set in Angel of War- Universe**

 **Chapter:** **One-Shot**

 **Copyright:** **Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me**

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Even though he was a parent, War could not simply spend the entire time at the Fortress. There was only so many excuses his siblings could come up with that did not even hint at the relationship of the youngest Rider and one of Heaven's foremost Archangels and most assuredly not hint at the fact that Azrael had borne him a child just over a year ago.

"Welcome back." Azrael spread his wings, carrying both himself and Grace down to the ground where War had just appeared from the pathways between the worlds. "Are you well?"

"Heh, always." War grinned up at his lover. Nowadays he also always made sure to clean himself before returning, no need to introduce Grace to the intrinsicaties of her father's line of work just yet. "How was your day?"

"Grace wants to show you something." The mystic set down a short distance away from the Nephilim. "Wait there." He added when the bulkier male wanted to come closer. "Grace?" He moved the little girl away from himself.

Grace meanwhile got a look of utmost concentration on her face as she started flapping her wings. War blinked at that. She had been doing that at the insistence of Azrael ever since her first feathers had come in. He was not entirely sure why she needed to show that off.

And then he realized: eyes crunched closed, wings buzzing with her exertion she was starting to lift off from her mother's hands. Slowly, but surely the little girl was getting airborne. Opening her eyes, she beamed at him while started to bop forward slowly and unsteadily. Azrael followed her, arms still below her in case she fell.

War smiled warmly when she reached him, holding out his golem-arm as a landing-pad. She plopped down on it, beaming brightly at him. "You saws!?"

"I did see." He pulled her close, holding the small form gently. "You flew, my little cloud."

"I dids!" She cheered. "Mommy tau'ts me. I pwaktis'!"

"That she did." Azrael moved closer, resting his hand between the wings of his child. "I had a hell of a time getting her to sleep, so busy she was with practicing."

"Heh, I think she got that from me." War rubbed the small head with his other hand. "I wouldn't stop training either."

Grace's eyes sparkled with delight at that, buzzing her wings to lift off again. War chuckled when she half-climbed and half-flew into his hood, snuggling in with his head.

"Typical." The angel snorted lightly, leaning over for a gentle kiss. "Is the whole 'stealing clothes'-thing something of yours as well?"

"Not that I recall that." Using one hand to ensure his child didn't tumble down, he used the other to pull Azrael closer briefly. "What about you?"

"I will only at most take the blame for her need to sit on your shoulders or head." The angel countered smoothly. "Should she start things with books, we can discuss if it's mine."


	4. Azrael's Mighty Fort

**Category:** **Darksiders I & II**

 **Rating:** **T**

 **Couples:** **Mention of Laylah/Rahab**

 **Warnings:** **AU, Set in Angel of War-Universe**

 **Chapter:** **One-shot**

 **Copyright:** **Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me and Food-for-mind**

 **Author's Note:** **Reminder that Haniel is Caim's name before he Fell.**

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Azrael, no." The female angel chuckled warmly, plucking her youngest son from the top of her husband's head. Considering they had a good head between them, she had to fly to properly reach it.

"Wanna go toooo!" Normally he was a quiet, calm child, but today the little boy had apparently decided he was going to be rambunctious. "Wanna!"

"You can't come." Laylah had to force down the laughter she felt bubbling up in her chest at the sight before her. She was holding Azrael, who was clinging to his father's furs with a death grip that would make some of the warriorly Firstborn do a double take. Rahab meanwhile was tilted precariously in the direction of his wife. "Even Haniel can't come yet."

"Though that is mostly because he still refuses to install a filter in his mouth." Rahab muttered dryly, unclasping his fur so his wife was holding their youngest and the white floof he had been clutching.

"True that." The Angel of Conception threw a flat stare at her eldest while wrapping her squealing youngest into the fur.

"There is nothing wrong with pointing out when people are wrong." Said eldest countered, watching as his sibling disappeared in white.

"Indeed." Rahab flapped his wings briefly. "But there is something wrong with _how_ you do that, Haniel. Just last week I and your mother had to bail you out... again."

"If we start this discussion again, we'll be late." Laylah handed the squirming fur to her eldest. "Watch Azrael, will you?"

"I always do that." The older son struggled to keep holding the moving form. He swore his mother used magic for that.

"You do it once a month." His father dryly ruffled the fur holding the baby of the family. "The rest of the time we share that duty."

"You always give him to me when he's active." Haniel frowned at the giggles coming from the bundle in his arms. "You get him when he's content to look at pretty pictures. I get him when he wants to try out that new-fangled magic-thing he discovered."

"Consider it punishment for being a smartass." Laylah briefly searched for the small face in the white, pressing a kiss to its' forehead when she found it. "Be a good boy now, yes?"

"Yes, mom." Azrael nodded happily.

"Try not to get into trouble." Rahab told his eldest.

"Oh sure, he gets kisses, I get warnings." Haniel rolled his eyes.

"You'll get kisses when you relearn respect." Laylah lovingly wing-bapped his head. "Have fun with Azrael."

"Sure..." Haniel watched them leave before looking down at his three-year old brother who was looking up at him with wide eyes. "Do you time these periods of high activity for when I am watching you or something?"

He was answered with giggles he was damn certain were a confirmation of his fears. Creator-damned brat. "Brat."

"Just like you." Azrael squirmed free from the fur to flutter around the other angel's head. "Daddy calls you that too."

"Guess brattiness runs in the family then." Haniel headed back into the living-room. It was located near the top of Fading Dawn's central spire, just under the Relic-repository. Looking out of the window, he could just see the portal of his parents fade.

"Got it from you." The little boy moved to the pillows that covered his part of the couch. "Can I go play?"

"Sure." Haniel plopped down on his half of the couch. No matter how many pillows were brought into the room, they all ended up with Azrael. Once, during another of his 'high activity phases' the little boy had collected enough of them to _bury_ his half of the couch, though somehow preventing any from falling off. After that, their parents decided that there were only ten pillows allowed and if you wanted one, you had to fight Azrael for one of his.

The child whooshed away, buzzing through the apartment to what hopefully was his room and toys.

"Thank the frick-fracking Creator he can entertain himself." Haniel reached over, snatching one of the pillows now that he could and settled in for a nice read.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"We're back." Laylah peeked into the living-room a good while later. "Did you put Azrael to bed yet?"

"Nah, he's playing." Haniel got up from his seat, looking with regret at the pillow he'd lose come morning. "How was it?"

"As well as always." The female angel rolled her eyes as she turned to go search for the youngest. "Surprisingly little complaints about you this time around."

"Maybe you will learn at some point." Rahab studied his fur in amusement. "I expected Azrael to make off with it."

"He's been playing since dinner." Haniel shrugged, following after his mother. "Should I inform the cook you need something to eat as well?"

"We had dinner." The older angel reattached the fur to his outfit, smoothing it as he walked beside his eldest.

"Haniel?" Laylah appeared at the top of the stairs. " _Where_ is Azrael playing? Because he is not in his room."

The younger male blinked a couple times. "I thought he was in there." All three knew that Azrael knew better than to leave the apartment, but still. "Are you sure?"

She threw a flat stare at him, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

"I'd laugh if he's redecorating Haniel's room again." Rahab snorted, opening the door next to the one leading to the child's room. "Haniel, go check every room with a bed, you know how he is."

"Why me?" The eldest of the two children demanded. They had plenty of fully stocked guestrooms as his parents often had other Firstborn over for short visits.

"You lost him, you find him." Laylah pointed into the hallway. "Shoo."

Grumbling in annoyance, the male angel did as demanded. He just knew that Azrael did this on purpose.

"Creator!" After a couple rooms, he heard his mother cry out. " _HANIEL!_ "

"What?" He flew down the corridor to where she was standing in the door-opening to her and Rahab's room.

"This is exactly why we make you look after Azrael!" She pointed inside.

Now that the door was open, he could feel the crackle of magic-saturated air. What, had Azrael turned their bed into a tree or something? And then he realized that he was not feeling it so much as he was hearing it. Looking over her shoulder – seriously, his mother was _small_ – his jaw dropped at the sight. There, in front of the bookshelves that covered one wall of the room was Azrael... in a book-fort of epic proportions. That certainly was not why Haniel nearly fell from the sky as his little brother had done that plenty, it was the fact _which_ books he had used. The crackle, both felt and heard, came from magical sparks bouncing between the books while several enchanted runes were glowing ever so faintly.

"Isn't it pretty?" Azrael beamed at his mother and older brother, completely oblivious as to what exactly those sparks meant.

"Very pretty, yes." Laylah glared at her eldest some more before deciding to save her youngest from the imminent explosion he had fabricated himself. With some well-applied shield-spells, she had soon dismantled the fort to loud protestations of the young boy and pulled him into her arms. "But now it's bedtime." As she passed her other child, her wing hit him over the head. "While your brother cleans up these books."

Grumbling at his sibling's giggles, Haniel moved inside the bedroom to do as ordered. Ugh, he hated the feel of his mother's wards...


	5. The Healer and the Succubus

**Category:** **Darksiders I & II**

 **Rating:** **T**

 **Couples:** **Naamah/Gremory**

 **Warnings:** **AU, Set in Angel of War-Universe**

 **Chapter:** **One-shot**

 **Copyright:** **Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me and Food-for-mind**

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

After Caim – obviously – Gremory was the one who had been with the Company the longest. As a healer she had always been kept well from the thick of fighting and as such had dodged what had killed many of the other members.

She remembered her own Fall quite well: it had been the single worst time of her life. She had married young with a warrior and soon borne him a son. Said son had followed his father's example rather than his mother's, becoming a warrior under his father's command.

Then, when the boy had just received a promotion disaster struck. Both of them were killed in an incident that should have been preventable. The healer was heartbroken.

They died while doing their duty, but that did little to soothe her pain. Angels were beings of logic, free from emotion... so it was said.

When their commander came to the healing-wards, having survived what they had not, there was no logic in her mind. Only hate.

But even wounded, the warrior was more than a match to her. He managed to beat her off before more warriors came to contain her.

Locked up, she realized exactly what she had done, even in failure she had just attacked another angel with the intention to kill. And from what she heard floating into her cell, she _had_ managed to cripple him permanently. This could only end poorly for her.

Her apprehension became terror when being led before those that would judge her. She had expected Abaddon to preside... He did not, instead being relegated to a second seat. A _Firstborn_ would preside: Laylah, Angel of Conception, had decided to involve herself in the trail of a lowly healer having attacked a General.

Throughout the entire proceedings, the female Firstborn hardly spoke, contending herself with letting the others do the talking. Only at the end, when judgement was to be passed did she speak up... to mitigate the final verdict. Instead of Abaddon's verdict – which she never learned, but figured was far worse than the deal she actually got – Laylah had declared she would simply be cast from the City, forced to leave with the golden gates closing behind her forever.

Three days later, Gremory was brought to said gates and forced outside. As she flew down the causeway, she suddenly felt a weight in her hands. A satchel had appeared in them and when she turned to the City in surprise, her eyes met those of the Firstborn that had banished her from Heaven.

Only when she had found a secure spot on the world of the Makers did she open it. A scrolls and healing-supplies that could well last her for months if not more... The scroll was sealed, so for now she decided to leave it alone.

The next morning, she was woken by a Fallen with large and wide wings looming over her, with several more with smaller wings surrounded them. Somehow, he knew she had a scroll with her, demanding it. After reading it, he offered it to her to read. Her service as a Healer was offered to the group in return to the services they had rendered to the City at some earlier point. Somehow, she did not think it had been the White City offering her, but rather only one lone Firstborn.

She took the position he offered, figuring it better than trying to survive on her own. She had never regretted the move, though at times she had wondered as to the motivations of the Firstborn that had interfered on her behalf.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Angels are beings of Logic, but they are also reasonable. As such, they knew that some professions, though unwanted in theory should still exist in practice. Naamah's profession was one of those, as one could imagine.

She liked it though despite the trouble it at times caused her, enjoying the fact that she could help people the way she did. It helped that she was quite successful and popular, having clients even in the upper ranks of Heaven's hierarchy.

Unfortunately, her job carried risks beyond social stigma with it. There were at times spouses who did not appreciate their significant other visiting Naamah and her 'siblings' as she lovingly called them.

Naamah never officially Fell, rather fleeing the City when one of said spouses threatened her with legal action that would have resulted in her official Fall. Rather than risk this becoming a precedent that would threaten those she worked with, she decided to do the cowardly thing and have all blame placed on herself instead of her profession.

For a time, she travelled through various worlds, until encountering a Fallen female on one of them. Half-death at that point, Naamah collapsed in grief and exhaustion.

She woke days later in a roughshod tent-camp, the Fallen sitting beside her. Said female introduced herself as Gremory and the group's healer, telling Naamah that she had taken her to camp after she collapsed. With gentle coaxing, she managed to get the new arrival to open up.

During the next day, the leader of the group visited the still white-winged angel. Quite frankly, he terrified her. He told her she could stay, as long as she made herself useful in some way.

For days, she refused to leave the tent she had been placed in. Part of her understood that this was now her only recourse, but another part revolted against the thought of Fallen, holding some faint hope that at some point she could return to the White City despite knowing full well that she could not.

One evening, as Gremory brought her what passed for dinner in the group, the despondent female attacked her. Not with the intention of causing harm, but rather in a desperate search for _something_ that had stayed the same. The healer indulged her, comforting the broken female afterwards.

After that night, Naamah joined the other angels hesitantly, black wings or not. She took to learning how to battle and after a few years, even took up her old job again. That particular announcement was met with very happy faces from some of the company-members, much to her amusement. They were a fun, weird bunch.

During all this, she had started growing closer to and then actually courting the healer, much to everyone's amazement. To even more amazement – and her own joy – Gremory accepted the courtship and after a good decade, the two females became an item.

Their fellow company-members were still trying to figure out how the prudish healer fit with the – at best – promiscuous succubus-in-angel-skin. When questioned, both would just say that a ship can visit many harbors, but only one is its' home-port.


	6. Blood and Water

**Category:** **Darksiders I & II**

 **Rating:** **T**

 **Couples:** **None**

 **Warnings:** **AU, Set in Angel of War- Universe**

 **Chapter:** **One-Shot**

 **Copyright:** **Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me **

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Kunopegos and Andras were some of the few of the Company who had actually been full-time warriors before their respective Falls. Most of the warriors that Fell could not look beyond their hate for the impure and refused to join a company of Fallen. Then again, both had had their share of 'purity' before Falling.

Andras had become too focused on fighting to deal with his overbearing parents, more often than not sending even mere sparring-partners into the hospital-wards. Bloodlust blinded him to everything until he was quite literally splattered in it and a team of his peers had dragged him off his target.

Imprisonment and other punishments failed to curb his desire for blood and in the end, the consensus was that the only punishment that could be meted out was a Fall or death. Offered the choice between them, the male choose Falling. He knew that especially his father would eternally suffer under the knowledge that his child had _Fallen._ And while he had gained some form of respect for Azrael after their less than positive introduction, he got more than a little gleeful at any other unFallen angel's discomfort.

Rumour had it that he had quite gracefully _jumped_ into Hell, showing the present dignitaries every rude gesture he could before he fell out of sight. No one would really confirm those rumours.

Kunopegos had similar problems with her family, being a disappointment to her father since she had been born. His Lineage had always been known to have only sons so when he got a _daughter_ that was considered a poor omen indeed. For the first few months, her parents were even this close to breaking the most sacred bond Heaven knew as he refused to believe that the girl was _his_ and accused his wife of cheating.

Though their marriage was saved by the birth of twin sons, the relationship to their daughter was abominable. At fifteen, when warrior-training started, she left the family and went to live at the barracks.

Several centuries later, her squadron was send to Earth to deal with a rogue group of demons that had gone rogue. During the battle that ensued, the man she loved was killed. As they had to pursue fleeing demons, they could not retrieve his body until after a good while.

When she returned, she could not find him where he had fallen. Searching for several hours, it was only after she had stumbled across a native village that she found him... in a cooking-pot. Her mind broke and ancient magics she didn't even know she had activated. When the rest of the group found her, a large part of the area was drowned and she had started quite some myths about a massive flood being punishment of some divine being. Hunderds of thousands of humans died within a few hours and wishing to dodge the retaliation of the Charred Council, her commanding officer imprisoned her, the official statement being that she had betrayed the White City long before, merely looking for an excuse to break the treaties and start a war.

It was actual centuries later that Caim stumbled across a chest with more protective enchantments and wards than he had rarely seen aside from objects in possession of Firstborn. It took him about a week to break them, freeing a still raging angel.


	7. Waking up Michael

**Category:** **Darksiders I & II**

 **Rating:** **T**

 **Couples:** **Mention of War/Azrael**

 **Warnings:** **AU, Set in Angel of War-Universe**

 **Chapter:** **One-shot**

 **Copyright:** **Characters & places © By Appropriate Copyright-holder, Plot & OC´s © by me and Food-for-mind**

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

If one asked an angel what was the greatest sanctum the White City head, said angel would answer 'the Tower', regardless of whether they were a scholar or a warrior. For most outsiders, they would not elaborate as to why a tower that did not truly stand out from any other structure in the city – instead of say, the Argent Spire which dominated the skyline – was the most important structure the First Kingdom had to offer. Perhaps, if prodded enough, they would answer that access was restricted even to the denizens of the City; of the entire race, only a proverbial handful had ever had access to the upper levels.

Only a hundred would be called to serve there as guards or servants and more often than not, those deemed worthy of these duties would be granted several consecutive millennia of work, making some of them as much permanent residents as the one they served and guarded.

The only ones who could reach the greatest chamber of the tower without some extensive vetting were of course the Angelic Firstborn. Considered the purest and most infallible of any angel – something they vehemently would disagree with if ever asked – no one could even consider subjecting them to the rules of conduct the others had to abide by.

Laylah like most of her siblings had considered most rules the later generations had set upon themselves asinine and overly restrictive. As such, those of the Tower-attendants that had been more recent additions looked on with mild disapproval as she marched through their domain. Where other visitors were quiet, introspective to the point of being almost meditative, the Firstborn did not bother with such trivialities and made their presence well-known by marching down the marble corridors, the sounds of their progress echoing against the walls. Though the fact that the four-winged female slammed a door was new even for the eldest of their race.

"My lady?" One of the eldest of the attendants – a maternal uncle of Abaddon and the only one who was a fixture as much as the official inhabitant – spoke up as he approached her. "Is aught alright?"

"Of course not." The female graced him with a flat stare. "My dear brother is _still asleep_. He is overdue to wake up for a good _century_ now."

Despite what the Horsemen had learned only recently, there were not five Angelic Firstborn still alive... There were six; though according to the five the Nephilim knew off, the fourth brother might as well be dead for how much he did nowadays. Which meant that he slept for about a century, woke up for a few days... and then went right back to sleep. Much to their annoyance, he had managed to sleep straight through the Endwar as by the time those in the City had realized what was happening on Earth, it was considered too late for him to make any difference.

"Ah... I can imagine..." The younger angel was cut off by an annoyed wave of her hand.

"Return to your duties, Zadkeil." She ordered him, crossing the room to the source of her annoyance. Floating at the far end of the elaborately decorated hall floated the highest power of the City, the angelic equivalent of Absalom... A ball of feathers and wings with no body in sight.

She ignored the bell specifically designed to announce the presence of visitors and marched up to the white ball. "Michael!" The few younger angels in attendance looked at her with incredulous disbelief. "Wake up!"

Aside from the customary undulations going through the ball as wings – and wing-like tentacles – shifted eternally, there was no reaction from the other Firstborn.

"Michael, so I swear, I know you hear me in your sleep!"Azrael's mother did not lower her voice in the slightest. "So I _know_ you know I am here. Get your wing-covered ass to wakefulness."

Now there was a reaction; the wings and tentacles tightened, the ball growing smaller as if the one inside it wanted to shield himself from her voice.

"Michael, don't make me open a portal to some kind of ocean and drench you! Even your thousands of wings cannot completely keep a lake worth of water from reaching you." Hands on her hips and wings widespread, she might have made an imposing figure if her opposite wasn't still the size of a sizable Gholen.

Almost reluctantly the ball un-tensed. "Let me sleep, sister..."

"No." The Archangel of Conception countered sharply. "You have overslept for a _century_ , Michael. It's about time you wake up. Besides, we have decided that from now on, you are going to get a normal sleep-schedule again."

"Why...?" The voice was a mixture of uncaring sleepiness and mild annoyance. "I am tired."

"You're always tired." She rolled her eyes. "You overslept so long you slept through the _Endwar_ , brother. The Seven Seals are broken. Both Hell and the Hellguard are decimated and I am not even talking about what happened to our _sons_ and Abaddon."

"The Endwar...?" Michael echoed, opening several wings until his sister could see the source of holy light at the centre of his ball and he could see her. "Why did you not wake me...?"

"Because by the time we in the City realized what was happening, it was too late to warn you." Her wings relaxed as she moved forward to pat his wings. "Abaddon started it early. The Third Kingdom was exterminated." Behind her, Abaddon's uncle flinched at the reminder of what the son of his sister had done. "Earth is still damn near uninhabitable to them. Abaddon is dead. Your son Lucien is dead – something called Corruption tainted him – and Azrael is banished for the next 285 years for having failed to realize what our General was planning and unwittingly assisting him."

"Lucien... died?" More wings opened as the male agonizingly slowly leaned forward. "My son... fell?" His face glowed with the same soft glow he had inherited to several of his children, the unfortunate Lucien included.

"Yes." She moved closer, well into range of his wings. "But all those fiddly details can be left for once you have fully woken up. Don't think I can't tell, brother. You're waking up whether you like it or not and you'll stay awake this time."

A small smile formed on his face as his wings rippled and opened completely, leaving him standing on bare feet in front of her. His skirt dropped to the ground, moving like it was pure water as it pooled around them. "I thought the Endwar was over and done?"

"Well... no. It's postponed until its' proper time. As said, we'll discuss that later."

"Then why... did you bother coming yourself?" Despite sleeping most of the time, he was still nicely muscled... and taller than his sister.

"Because I wanted to make sure you really wake up this time." She smirked up at him. "You have a wedding to attend."

"You woke me for a wedding?" He sounded annoyed now. "Laylah, I am certain I slept through plenty of them."

"Azrael's wedding." The small female informed him dryly. "Considering I attended every wedding of your Second-born, you can deign to wake up for mine, that's for certain."

"Azrael's marrying?" For the first time in a long time, Creation was graced with Michael's flabbergasted face. "I thought he would be too busy, what with all his duties."

"Banishment gave him free time." The other Firstborn smirked. "Besides, I'd be tempted by War as well. He does have some nice muscles."

"War...? The Horseman _War_?" The oldest being of Heaven demanded in shock. "The Nephilim?"

"Yes. Details later, Brother." Laylah stated with a small grin. "We do need to see the tailors before the wedding next week."

"You are the most annoying of my siblings..." Michael muttered. "I have clothes."

"That are out of date for ages by now." She patted his shoulder. "And you should know that I am just making sure you don't sleep forever at some point."


End file.
